


And This Skin and Mouth of Mine (Will Not Betray Me Anymore)

by angelfeast (miscellanium)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-16
Updated: 2011-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:08:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscellanium/pseuds/angelfeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy's blood made him suited but his body, the angel said, made him special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And This Skin and Mouth of Mine (Will Not Betray Me Anymore)

**Author's Note:**

> references to body dissonance, brief mention of thoughts of self-harm, and allusions to seizures (as in 4x20). If you're trans, parts of this may be inherently triggering so read with discretion. Thanks to sailetheach for persuading me to finally write this.

Jimmy Novak got his first period at thirteen. Nobody could explain why this was something that was necessary. All they could tell him was that it was a natural part of growing up and he'd get used to it, only it didn't feel natural at all until he looked at the blood in his underwear and a voice leaned into his brain and said _Wait_. So he waited.

At sixteen he looked at the mirror, at the wrongness of his body, and crossed his arms to try and press his breasts back into his body. Maybe if he took a kitchen knife, he thought, but again the voice said _Wait_.

Sometimes it was hard, so hard, and the voice was silent. Then he'd go to church, sit there and think about Sebastian of Narbonne, his flesh shot through with arrows that said he was wrong even though he knew he was right.

Jimmy liked to look at the stained glass as he prayed, at the way the patterns on the floor didn't match the ones in the window and the light. "If you are testing me, Lord, then know this: I will give everything."

He learned in school that there were things just not talked about, so he kept quiet and studied, stopped trying to find out why he was growing up wrong.

There were nights when he'd channel surf as his parents slept upstairs, watch things he wasn't supposed to, and this time it was a movie about someone like him. Terrible things happened in it, but still there were others like him so Jimmy knew that he would be okay, that this was something he had to do.

The voice was exultant, poured its heavenly love through the television as it said _This is good, this is good, this is good_ until his eyes rolled back.

They found him in the morning, sleeping on the floor where he had fallen, and he told them.

"God did this for a reason, he had to have done," Jimmy said, and his father began to cry.

They cared as much for him as for his soul, so they said yes and he knew he was blessed. But they could only pay for his education, this middle-class family in North Dakota, so at eighteen he cut his hair, bound his chest, and went to Illinois, moved to the Windy City for money and freedom. Riding on the bus, he rested his forehead against the window, let his face be warmed by the morning sun as the voice carried him along with whispers about destiny and fate.

\--

A local radio station gave him a job—the pay wasn't much but it was enough—and at night the University of Chicago had classes on public speaking, on business, on how to be seen the way you want to be seen. Amelia sat next to him in journalism, and soon they were sitting together in the library, in the bar, in Jimmy's fourth-story apartment on West Garfield Street.

They were neither of them virgins but they still had to learn their bodies, where they could touch. Jimmy had to show her where it was okay to put her hands, on and in him, until he was crying out and she was looking at him like she couldn't find the words but knew she had found home.

After they graduated—Amelia with degrees in English and photojournalism and Jimmy with a degree in advertising that got him a permanent spot at a station in Pontiac—he called the hospital and told her it was time.

When the anesthesia wore off and he woke up, alone, groggy, and truly happy for the first time in his life, the voice said _Now you are ready._

"Ready for what?"

_God has work for you._

Then the door opened and Amelia came in, turned off the TV.

\--

One morning, after the bleeding stopped and Jimmy could raise his hands up high again, Amelia looked up from the newspaper she had propped against her orange juice and asked, "Can we get married?"

Jimmy swallowed his coffee too quickly, burnt the back of his throat, and put his mug down with shaking hands.

"I don't know," he said carefully. "But we can find out."

The next time it wasn't a question. "I think I'd like to have a kid," Amelia said one evening, and Jimmy looked away.

"I can't—"

"Don't be silly." She held up the folder she'd brought out with her, slid it across the porch. "This is some research I did," she said, then Jimmy was kissing her with a love fierce and painful as the sunset shone through his eyelids like stained glass.

He let out a shuddering breath, kept his forehead against hers as he turned his face to the street. "We'll name her Claire," he said.

Amelia looked at him for a long time before lowering her head and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. She never said it but he knew the answer was yes.

\--

When their daughter came along the voice stopped. Sometimes he missed it, but mostly he was relieved because he wanted to be normal even if he wasn't always sure what that meant or if it mattered. There were moments when he'd think of the movie he saw before leaving home, compare it to his life now, and thank the Lord that he had survived.

Then it came back with a name. _I am called Castiel, and God has chosen you for a higher purpose. It is time,_ it said, _Time time time_ full of a light and electricity that made Jimmy fall to his knees.

Tests were required: Castiel had to provide proof, and Jimmy had to believe. So there were conversations, arguments, and then Castiel asked him to put his hand into a pot of boiling water. Even with the water bubbling and foaming around his elbow there was no pain, and this was real, so real Jimmy could not breathe.

Castiel got closer, visited him every night and told him that angels had no gender as binary humans could understand it. Jimmy's blood made him suited, but his body made him a prize—special, Castiel said, like it was an apology, and finally there was somebody else who knew about these things, somebody else to talk to.

Amelia tried to be enough, she always did, but the angel _knew_.  
"I love you, but this isn't the same," said Jimmy, and wished he couldn't understand why she pulled away.

\--

"Promise my family will be okay and I'll do it." _I will take care of them_ , and the light got brighter and brighter until he was almost dizzy, faint before the power of the Lord. "Then, yes."

He turned his face up to the night sky and glory slammed into him.

It was like he was tearing at the seams, except the fine tight lines across his chest were gone—

 _My scars_ , Jimmy said. _You healed them. Why?_

"A side effect of grace," came the answer.

_What about—_

Castiel flared, drowned the rest of Jimmy's question in static.

"God made you for a purpose," the angel said. Then the door opened and Claire stepped out, called his name. He was gone so Castiel said "I am not your father," and this was it, this was what his faith had given him.


End file.
